


Equilibrium

by marauder_in_warblerland



Series: Klaine Advent Challenge 2014 [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauder_in_warblerland/pseuds/marauder_in_warblerland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine's on a mission and Kurt's not going to let anyone stand in his way. [Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2014]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equilibrium

“Sam, I swear to god—” Kurt rubs his forehead and turns away from where Blaine, Rachel, Sam, and Santana sit clustered around the loft coffee table. “How hard can it be to stay still for twenty minutes?” Kurt mutters under his breath. “Are you broken?”

“Dude?” Sam starts back in surprise, sending tiny tremors through the sofa and up onto the coffee table. “What am I doing now? You already made me stop watching _The Flash_ , because it might ‘shake his concentration.’”

“Well now you’re shaking a lot more than that,” Kurt says, glaring at the sofa. He might not be able to stop the tremors with his mind, but he can try.

Sam throws his hands up with an indignant snort. “I wasn’t before! I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You were breathing . . . loudly.”

“I can't stop breathing!” Sam snaps, leaning forward to catch Blaine’s eye. “No offense, Blaine, but your game isn’t _that_ exciting.”

Kurt feels himself turning red. “It’s not just a game!”

“Guys! Please?” Blaine’s voice echoes over the squabble, like a kindergarten teacher at recess, and the room falls into embarrassed silence. “Thank you.”

With apologetic shrugs, Kurt and Sam turn back to where Blaine sits hunched over the coffee table, one hand poised in the air and the other holding a Jenga block between his forefinger and thumb. With concentration usually reserved for oral surgery, he lifts the tiny wooden block and sets it, delicately, on top of a stack that’s already threatening to collapse. For more than twenty minutes, Blaine has been stacking one block on top of the other in the classic three-by-three pattern, until Sam’s breathing might actually pose a problem. If any of the pieces fall out of equilibrium, he might have until the count of three before the whole tower lands in his lap. 

When the latest piece drops onto the top of the stack and holds its place, Blaine lets out a tiny breath of relief. “I really do appreciate this,” he says, reaching for the next block. “I know you all have more interesting places to be.”

Rachel nods from her spot on the sofa. “True, but nothing is more important than supporting my friends, even in their less significant endeavors. Plus, Artie was too busy to run the webcam.”

“What she said,” Santana adds, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back into her corner of the sofa, “except, let’s be real. I’m here to watch the carnage when that tower of bizarre obsession falls over. Even after all these years, I’ve never seen Gel Helmet McGee in full on tantrum mode, and I bet it makes _Les Mis_ look like Easter brunch.”

Sam sighs, “you have no idea.”

“Guys!” Kurt waves at the table, where Blaine is setting one more block high on top of the stack. As he lowers first one side, and then the other, his wrist just grazes a block in the middle of the pile. It’s hardly a touch. In fact, if the tower had been another person’s arm, Blaine’s certain that they would never have noticed the contact, but it’s enough. The pile wobbles like a wave and as Blaine sucks in a breath, it all comes crashing off of the table and onto the floor in a mess of wooden fragments.

For a second, Blaine sits frozen, staring in horror at the space where the tower used to be. He only got to 32 layers. That—that’s not even as good as last year. Of course, he knows in the intellectual part of his brain that it doesn’t _mean_ anything. He wouldn’t even care about these stupid blocks if it weren’t for —

“Hello!” Santana answers Blaine’s buzzing phone with more joy than she’s shown all day. “Why yes, he’s right here! Would you like to speak to him?” She covers the receiver with one, manicured hand and smiles down at the destruction. “Oh, Blaine? I think it’s for you.” She sits back, holding the phone aloft like a well-earned trophy, and taps the speaker button. “Here he is, hon!” 

And Blaine waits for the storm.

“YES!” Tina’s voice booms out of Blaine’s tinny speakers like a vengeful—and petty—angel. “EAT IT! That’s three years in a row, Blaine Devon Anderson! Every year you say it’s gonna be different and every year I stack ‘em higher than you! YES! I might not have perfect hair or the ability to seduce men through the sheer force of my musical charisma, but when it comes to Jenga I have nerves of steel and the balance of a Russian gymnast! What do you have to say about that Captain Sparkle-pants?”

Sam squints at the phone, “Sparkle-pants?”

“Tina,” Blaine sighs, quietly, “it’s just a game—”

“I’m sorry,” Tina booms, “Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you. I DON’T SPEAK LOSER.”

As she continues, celebrating her third annual victory in “The Battle of Wood and Steel,” Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s shoulders from behind, and sets his chin on top of Blaine head. “Don’t worry about her,” he whispers. “Next year, she won’t know what hit her.”

Blaine laughs under his breath, and ducks his head, just listening.

“So next time,” Kurt continues. “We’ll glue all of the blocks together beforehand, and she’ll never know the difference.”

“You think?” Blaine smiles and tilts his head, so he can just make out the side of Kurt’s face.

“I know,” Kurt whispers. “She might have had more prep time this year, but there’s no way I’m letting that two-bit hustler insult my husband-to-be.” He squeezes Blaine’s shoulders and, for the first time that day, Blaine feels a rush of hope that doesn't have much to do with his sense of balance.


End file.
